Picking Up the Pieces
by unicorn-skydancer08
Summary: Tumnus and Oreius both suffer from the loss of someone very dear to them, and they learn to lean on one another as they face the difficult days that lie ahead. Sometimes, though, leaning on someone too hard can ultimately break them...
1. Chapter 1

**PICKING UP THE PIECES**

_This is what you might call a little sequel to my _Tragedy and Triumph _story. I knew I wanted to have something with Tumnus and Oreius together, and I decided to write about how they both struggle to come to terms with what happened in their past, and how they struggle to understand each other. I feel the first chapter turned out quite well. Let's hope the rest of the story turns out just as good! _

_Read and review, please! (Being an aspiring author, feedback is extremely important to me.) _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

**All rights reserved. **

**

* * *

Chapter 1**

"_Father, no! You can't do this to me! I'm your son!" _

"_You are no son of mine, Tumnus. Not anymore." Anlon shifted the weight of his bag on his shoulder a little before turning his back on Tumnus, his young son (and his only son in the world at that), and opening the door to the cave that was their home. An intense blast of icy wind blew through the entrance, accompanied by a generous amount of snow. In spite of the bitter cold, and in spite of the ominous darkness that shrouded the wood—and the evident dangers and perils of the wood itself, especially in winter after nightfall—Anlon didn't hesitate to set hoof over the threshold, and soon he was marching away into the brisk, blustery night. Tumnus stood alone in the empty doorway and cried for his father to return, begging him to not leave him. _

_But Anlon paid no mind to his son or his son's anguished pleas, and merely kept going—never once slowing down, never once looking back. _

_Within a few short minutes, he was gone. _

_Heartbroken, Tumnus fell freely to his knees in the cold snow, hot tears flooding down his face without restraint. "Father…Father!" he kept wailing despairingly, but there was no answer, save for the mournful howl of the empty wind that enveloped him. _

* * *

Tumnus awoke with a gasp. Breathing harshly, his face drenched in tears and perspiration, the young faun rose slowly to an upright position and glanced around. It took him a moment to realize where he was: he was in his own bed, in his own private chamber at Castle Cair Paravel. Warm early morning sunlight peeked around the sealed curtains of his window.

Realizing it had all been a dream, Tumnus sighed and flopped back against his deep stack of pillows, his eyes closed, one hand laid delicately over his heaving chest.

"Mr. Tumnus!" a frantic voice cried out just then, and young Queen Lucy the Valiant burst into the faun's room, looking white with anxiety. She had clearly just been out of bed, for she was still in her lavender satin nightdress, and her red-brown hair was tousled slightly. Yet she appeared wide-awake. Making an immediate beeline to the bed, the girl asked fearfully, "Mr. Tumnus, what happened? Are you all right?"

"I think so," Tumnus said softly, although he was still considerably shaken.

"Your face is all wet," Lucy noted. "And you look awful. Are you sure you're all right, Mr. Tumnus?" Aside from Tumnus's face, she could also see that a solid layer of perspiration coated her friend's bare chest and shoulders; and his sheets and pillows were soaked, as if someone had just poured a bucket of water all over the faun's bed.

"I'm all right, Lucy," Tumnus reassured the girl, as he sat up again and wiped his dripping brow. "I…I just had a terrible dream, is all."

"That must have been some dream," said Lucy. She shivered. "From the way you were screaming, I was dreadfully afraid something very bad had happened to you."

"Did I wake you, Lucy? If I have done so, forgive me."

Lucy shook her head. "I was still in bed, but I was reading." She smiled at her faun and laid her hand gently upon his hairy forearm as she continued, "Even if you _had _woken me up, though, I would not have minded. You're safe, and that's what really matters."

Touched at her kindness and thoughtfulness on his behalf, a smile spread over Tumnus's face, and he felt his eyes moisten.

Sometimes the faun wondered just what kind of magic it was that brought Lucy into his life, and made her the dear friend she was today.

"Is everything all right in here?" a deep voice spoke.

Tumnus and Lucy simultaneously turned their heads to find General Oreius standing there, in the open doorway. Unlike Lucy, the centaur was well-groomed, and fully dressed for the day.

He stood in his traditional scarlet tunic, made of heavy wool with sturdy brown leather binding; and his silver-plated armor rested over the top of the manly section of his body, while a decorative caparison covered the part of him that was horse. As he was not wearing his helmet at that time, Tumnus could see all of the centaur's long, shiny ebony hair, the tops of which were stylishly pulled back, while the rest of it hung down behind Oreius's pointed ears and rested easefully upon his broad shoulders. Two thin braids trailed in front of his shoulders, one on either side, and he also sported long sideburns and a small black beard.

"What was all the disturbance, Tumnus?" Oreius inquired of the young faun. "I could hear you screaming clear down from the other end of the corridor." Noticing how pale and sweaty Tumnus was, his golden brow furrowed with concern. "Are you all right? You look a little ill."

Reaching for his handkerchief and using it to mop up his face and neck, Tumnus said, "Hello, Oreius. It's nothing; it was only that dream again."

Knowing what Tumnus was talking about, Oreius closed his eyes for just a moment, a brief spasm of grief crossing his handsome, rugged face. Yet the centaur maintained a firm hold on his composure, and when he spoke again, his voice was cool and even. "Oh, I—I see."

And that was all he said.

Tumnus buried his head in his hands. This wasn't the first time he had suffered from a nightmare concerning his father, and the awful day his father left him forever, and the faun had a feeling it wasn't going to be the last. It had been many years since his father deserted him, and many years since Anlon died. You'd have thought the nightmares would have ceased altogether by now, that the scars would have healed by this time. While the pain certainly had lessened a great deal, it still wasn't completely gone altogether; and while the nightmares didn't come around quite as frequently as they had used to, they still came…and when they hit, they hit Tumnus hard.

"It's all right, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy soothed, rubbing his shoulder lightly in an attempt to console him. "It's all right."

"What happened in your life was a very traumatizing time, Tumnus," Oreius said, as if he could read the faun's thoughts. "What you'd gone through is enough to break any creature. You are not weak," he added, placing emphasis on the last four words.

After a moment, Tumnus slowly lowered his hands from his face and looked up to meet the centaur's intense brown eyes. "I'm sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't mean to…"

Waving aside the faun's apology, Oreius changed the subject. "Don't forget, Tumnus, you and I are set for one-on-one dueling together this morning. So, since you're awake now, freshen yourself up a bit, and meet me out in the castle courtyards in fifteen minutes."

"But I haven't even had breakfast yet," Tumnus protested.

"You can eat later," said Oreius. "Come, now, Tumnus, it'll be good practice for you. A bit of training can certainly go a long way." He added, with just the slightest hint of cockiness, "How do you suppose I got to be the fine swordsman I am today, not to boast of myself?"

Tumnus sighed, but he said dutifully, "Oh, all right. I'll be there, Oreius."

Oreius nodded approvingly. "Good!" And with that, the centaur turned and swept grandly from the room, before either Tumnus or Lucy could say anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

**PICKING UP THE PIECES**

_Presenting chapter 2! This is probably as close as I'll ever get to comic relief in this story, so be sure to savor it! For this, I did a little research, and I also relied on a similar scene from "Eragon". (Great movie, by the way, even though the book's way better. Had I been the director, I would have filmed it differently.) _

_Again, reviews—preferably positive ones—would mean the world to me! _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

**All rights reserved. **

**

* * *

Chapter 2**

After Tumnus had washed his face, attempted to straighten his unruly blonde-brown curls, and overall smartened himself up a little, he made his way toward the courtyard where he'd agreed with meet with Oreius. "This is too early for this," the faun muttered disdainfully to himself as he reluctantly hauled himself out into the cool, bright morning.

He wished he could have gotten a little more sleep before this, or at least that Oreius could have allowed him to grab himself a bite first. The wonderful aromas that wafted from the royal kitchen as he was just leaving the castle nearly drove him and his stomach crazy.

But if there was one thing Oreius was famous for, aside from being the leader of Cair Paravel's defense force and a first-rate warrior, it was punctuality. The centaur always did precisely what he intended to do, at precisely the appointed time—not a moment later, not a moment sooner. And he had no tolerance for lateness, or idleness.

Tumnus figured he may as well get the business over with now, and be done with it.

And the faun also decided he could do with some exercise, anyway. Even though most of their enemies—mainly the White Witch, Narnia's most daunting foe—had been wiped out, you still had to watch your back in Narnia. So, it never hurt to have a few skills handy, just in case. As Lucy would put it: "Better safe than sorry."

Beyond that, this would give Tumnus an opportunity to share some personal time with Oreius, who was like a surrogate father to him, now that Anlon was gone.

Oreius was already waiting for Tumnus when the faun arrived at the spot. A couple of other fauns, as well as a satyr and a handful of centaurs, were with him. "Good, you're here," Oreius smiled, when Tumnus sauntered up to them. "And with exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds to spare."

Tumnus merely rolled his eyes at this.

Sometimes, he wished Oreius wasn't such a nit-picker about the time.

Paying no heed to the look on Tumnus's face, Oreius went on, "Alphonse already has your armor ready." While he thus spoke, he motioned toward a tall, fair-haired faun, who indeed cradled a full suit of armor in his powerfully built arms. "And Trahern has prepared your sword for you." He now gestured at another centaur, with roan-colored hair and a lean, athletic horse body that gleamed like wine. Trahern nodded at Tumnus, and proudly held up a freshly sharpened sword that shone dazzlingly in the morning sunlight.

"My armor?" said Tumnus incredulously.

"Of course," Oreius said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Everybody knows you must wear something to protect yourself when dueling, Tumnus. Come on, you didn't seriously think I was going to simply toss you a sword and expect you to fight me right then? If this were a true battle, and you had no armor, you'd be cut to pieces in no time."

"But I've never worn a suit of armor before," Tumnus protested.

"Then it is high time you learned, isn't it?"

Alphonse strode up to Tumnus and loaded the armor into the other faun's arms.

With a great sigh, Tumnus said resignedly, "Ah, well…if I must, I must."

But he had been quite right about never properly wearing armor before. He actually ended up putting on everything entirely backwards, so Oreius persuaded Alphonse and two other fauns to help him out. It took a bit of time, but once they were through with their chore and they all stepped back, Tumnus looked as splendid as any true soldier. He had a quilted olive-brown tunic underneath a suit of incredibly stiff maroon leather; a gold-edged breastplate with a V-shaped neckline encased his torso, and large shoulder caps covered his bare shoulders. His armor also consisted of pauldrons, made out of three layers of leather, and adorned with gold rivets. A thick black belt encircled his waist, with special straps and fastenings for other weapons. His arms were bare, save for a pair of maroon vambraces that extended from his wrists to just below his elbows, and his goat-stag legs were also bare.

"There, now," said Oreius proudly, "that's much better! You are now in a far more suitable position to fight, Tumnus."

"I look ridiculous!" Tumnus complained. To the other fauns, he added, "And how can you possibly _move_ in all this?"

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it," Alphonse reassured him.

"Lighter armor may be more ideal, as it gives you the freedom to maneuver about as you please, and is far easier to fight in," Oreius declared wisely. "But heavier, thicker armor can withstand more aggression and abuse, and therefore it significantly reduces your chances of getting cut up, or speared through like a fish."

Trahern now brought Tumnus his sword, and the thing proved to be much heavier than Tumnus expected. He nearly dropped it altogether when it was first placed into his hand.

"Now, the most important thing to remember in dueling," Oreius instructed the young faun, as Tumnus struggled to heave his sword up, "is to concentrate, and relax, while all the while keeping your strength and your wits about you. If you are not relaxed, you cannot act with sufficient speed and agility, which can prove to be fatal. Yet if you are careless, if you fight with apathy and do not focus, the result could be your own head. Maintain control, focus at _all_ times, and engage with care. Keep your body balanced, so that you may strike or parry without getting struck yourself. Spread your legs wide, never have your feet close to each other; and when you move about, try to slide as best you can without actually removing your feet from the ground. Keep your knees bent, keep a watchful eye on your foe, keep your blade at a comfortable distance while at the same time keeping it close to your body, and be sure to keep your posture straight and your chest and torso forward. Unless you've got more than one sword to waste, be sure you keep your hands on your weapon. Above all else, never—and I mean, _never_—turn your back on your adversary. Doing so, even for one second, may have deadly consequences, so I strongly suggest you don't even try it."

Tumnus's head was practically swimming with all this senselessly intricate information. He knew he would be lucky enough to even remember half of the centaur's advice. And furthermore, his sword was so heavy it was all he could do to hold it, let alone swing it about.

"Come, now," Oreius encouraged him, now brandishing a blade of his very own and raising it prominently toward the heavens. "Brace yourself, sword point up, and let us begin!"

And it sure began, all right.

Oreius literally wiped the floor with Tumnus. Tumnus could never hold the centaur off for more than a few blows, and while his armor protected him from getting sliced up like a piece of fresh meat, he still received smarting blows that left equally smarting bruises and welts behind. And the weight of his sword and his lack of strength slowed his movement, which was a painful disadvantage. He wanted to call it quits after the first ten minutes, but Oreius refused to back down, and he refused to let Tumnus back down.

It was really quite a humorous sight, and it was all the others could do to keep themselves from laughing outright as they watched Tumnus get pummeled. Some of them had to cover their faces, or duck their heads, or turn aside to conceal their amusement.

By the time it was at last called off, Tumnus dropped his sword into the grass, and he himself sank down alongside it and lay there on his back, so sore and exhausted that he could hardly move a muscle, the skin on his face and bare arms not covered by his armor glistening like diamonds with perspiration.

Oreius, on the contrary, showed no sign whatsoever of fatigue, and he barely had a scratch on him. The centaur stood directly over the defeated faun, and said incredulously, "That was it? That was the best you had in you?" He shook his head in a combination of wonder, amusement, and exasperation. "You wouldn't last two minutes in a real battle!"

Tumnus was not amused.

"Well, where did _you_ learn all this, anyway?" he inquired, as he struggled to a sitting position.

"Your father taught me."

Tumnus now stared at Oreius in genuine surprise. "My father?"

Oreius smiled down at the lad and said simply, "Who else?" He held up his sword and ran his thumb along the sharp edge of the blade as he went on, "Anlon taught me all I know today." His tone and countenance softened considerably. "And to think that I now have the privilege of teaching you, his son," he said, speaking so quietly that Tumnus almost didn't hear him.

For a moment, Tumnus was sure he saw a look of terrible, incomprehensible sadness in the depths of Oreius's dark brown eyes, and the sight made his own heart twist. It dawned on him that Oreius had loved Anlon every bit as much as he had, and that he missed the old faun every bit as much as he did, if not more so.

Together, they shared the same pain, the same bitter loss.

Tumnus felt a wave of sorrow overwhelm him, a sharp pang of yearning. For what was likely the hundred-millionth time, Tumnus wished with all his heart and soul that Anlon were here today. Though he knew death wasn't the end of a creature's existence, and he knew without a grain of doubt that he would see Anlon again and be reunited with him someday, that didn't stop him from missing Anlon dreadfully, from longing desperately for the old faun's company.

Oreius snapped himself out of his reverie, and discreetly cleared his throat. "Well, that ought to do it for one day," the centaur said diplomatically. "You're free to go now, Tumnus."

"Thank you." Tumnus was all too glad to strip away the armor and give his sword back, and head for the castle.

"But," Oreius spoke up, before Tumnus could completely get away from him, "remember that you and I have only just begun here. If you're going to improve your skills, you will need practice. You and me, two days from now, same spot, same time. No excuses. Good day."

To this, Tumnus cast his eyes woefully to the heavens and groaned, "Oh, joy…"


	3. Chapter 3

**PICKING UP THE PIECES**

_Presenting chapter 3! So far, this is my most favorite chapter. It's a tad short, but very sweet and charming, with a touch of sadness mixed in, and a little pinch of angst added for that extra flavor. _

_Hope you're all having a good read so far! And please, please, PLEASE review this! Pretty please? With sugar and whipped cream and melted chocolate and a marischino cherry on top? **puppy dog eyes** Okay, maybe that's overdoing it just a bit. I can't force anyone to review my stories, of course—but a review here and there really would mean so much to me! _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

**All rights reserved. **

**

* * *

Chapter 3**

Lucy met up with Tumnus just as the weary faun was dragging himself into the castle. The girl, now garbed in a regal blue gown trimmed with silver, her hair pulled back into an elegant coronet of braids, greeted her friend with an enthusiastic hug, making Tumnus grunt somewhat. Not that Tumnus wasn't glad to see Lucy, and not that he would have willingly embraced the little queen every bit as fervently in exchange—but he was still smarting from the blows he had received earlier, and his muscles were considerably stiff and tender.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lucy apologized, when she realized how her friend was hurting, and how her hugging him wasn't helping. She immediately released her hold on him and stepped back.

"Don't worry about it," Tumnus reassured her through gritted teeth.

Looking more intently at her friend, Lucy was surprised at the number of bruises scattered across the manly section of Tumnus's body. And from the way the faun was favoring his long, furry, goat-stag legs, she figured they must be aching fairly badly as well.

"Hard training?" she assumed.

He nodded wearily. "Oreius pounded me into a pulp out there…almost literally. And now I've got to do this again with him, two days from now." He sighed, and lifted one hand to briefly hide his eyes. He knew Oreius meant well, and he knew the centaur would never deliberately injure him. But, for the love of Aslan, he wished the centaur wouldn't _drill _him so hard.

He wished Oreius had gone somewhat easy on him, especially considering this had only been Tumnus's first day. Oreius could have cut him at least a little slack. But, no—with Oreius, it was all push and pound, right from the very beginning.

"You can do it, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy encouraged her friend. "You just need to practice, is all."

"That's what Oreius said," Tumnus said, dragging his hand slowly down his unshaven face and pulling on his beard. "But if this keeps up for long, there won't be much of me left." He now grimaced as he rubbed his left shoulder, feeling a sharp pang course through it.

"Would you like to soak in a hot bath?" Lucy offered kindly.

"I'll do just that…right after I get something to eat. I'm famished."

So, Lucy led her friend into the dining hall. There was no one else around, and the long table was mostly bare, since it was well over an hour past breakfast. "You missed breakfast, I'm afraid," Lucy apologized to her faun, "but I made sure to save something for you."

She motioned toward a solitary pile of food arranged on one side of the table. There was a stack of toast, along with a jar of marmalade, a bowl of boiled oats, a platter of fresh fruit, a pot of tea, a plateful of scrambled eggs—and, for some strange reason, roast chicken.

"I had a feeling you would be hungry later," Lucy now smiled.

Her kind gesture warmed Tumnus's heart.

"Oh, Lucy…thank you," he said gratefully. "This is so wonderful of you. Thank you!"

He didn't hesitate to take his seat at the table, and he wasted no time in bolting the food. Lucy presently joined him, and he let her take a bit of toast and a piece of fruit for herself. The boiled oats and the eggs had grown considerably cold, but the tea was good and hot; and even the chicken, though cold, tasted marvelous. Tumnus cleaned his dishes greedily.

Yet even as he chewed his food and drank his tea, his mind kept drifting back to his training session, and to what Oreius had told him concerning Anlon.

It also dawned on Tumnus that, out of all the fauns at Cair Paravel, he was the one Oreius spoke to the most, and paid the most attention to. Perhaps it was because Tumnus was all that remained of Oreius's old friend, and maybe the centaur figured that having Tumnus around him was the next best thing to having Anlon around.

Tumnus couldn't help wondering if Oreius would have ever bothered with him, had he never known Anlon in the first place…or if Tumnus had never been related to Anlon at all.

"What is it, Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy could sense something was troubling him.

Tumnus hesitated for just a moment before quietly setting aside the fresh cup of tea he'd just lifted to his lips. "Did you know that Oreius used to know my father, Lucy?" he said, at length.

"No, I didn't know," said Lucy, shaking her head innocently.

"Before Oreius became general, that had used to be my father's role," Tumnus explained. "Oreius told me this morning that my father was the one who trained him as a soldier in the beginning; and he also mentioned, at another time, that Father had conferred the title and obligations of general over the entire army upon him before he died."

"Really?" Lucy looked and sounded genuinely interested in all this.

Tumnus shrugged his shoulders. "That's how Oreius put it. And, it all makes sense."

Seeing the distress in the depths of Tumnus's bright blue eyes, a look of gentle concern filled Lucy's young face. "And," she said, faltering somewhat, "what is wrong with that, Mr. Tumnus? How can Oreius knowing your father make it a problem for you?"

Tumnus now heaved out a tremendous sigh, and put his face into his hands. "Oh, I don't know, Lucy. My feelings are all a great jumble about the matter. Part of me is glad to have Oreius with me, for he had known my father and maintained a strong relationship with him. Another part of me is a little wary of the centaur, for he was the last of us to see my father alive, and it was my father's death that elevated his rank. Another part of me suffers from jealousy, because Oreius had that special bond with my father that _I _ought to have had, being my father's own flesh and blood and all that. And another part of me doubts that Oreius would have ever troubled himself with the likes of me, had it not been for my father."

"Of course, he would have," Lucy said, though she wasn't so sure herself.

Tumnus kept his face in his hands for another minute or so before finally looking up.

"Forgive me," he apologized. "I don't mean to dump my troubles on you, Lucy."

"Don't be silly, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy chided gently, reaching for his hand and giving it a loving squeeze. "You know you can always talk to me about anything. That's what best friends do, after all. They're always there for each other, and they help each other out."

Hearing her refer to him in such a way brought a sharp sting of tears to Tumnus's eyes. "Do you really mean that, Lucy?" he asked in a hushed voice, his voice quivering somewhat with strong emotion. "Do you truly think of me as your best friend? Your very best friend?"

"I do," she assured him, offering him a lovely smile, "and with all my heart."

"Oh, Lucy…" Unable to find any proper words with which to express his humility, his gratitude, and his sheer love for her, all Tumnus could do was embrace her, right there at the table; and she hugged him back, trying her very best to not hurt him further as she did so.

When they let each other go a minute later, Tumnus dabbed briefly at his wet eyes with a napkin before discreetly clearing his throat, trying to recover his emotional equilibrium.

Now that he was through with his meal, and his empty stomach had been satisfied and he'd regained a little more of his strength, Tumnus arose from his seat, saying, "I believe I'll go and have that soak, now. At any rate, it is high time I had a good bath."

"All right, then," Lucy conceded. "Take it easy, Mr. Tumnus."

Tumnus gave a short laugh at that last part. "_You _tell me to take it easy," he said, with a halfhearted smile, "but Oreius refuses to let me budge an inch. Now, that's a little absurd, don't you think?"

This made Lucy giggle, and the sound was sweet music to Tumnus's ears. He quietly headed off in one direction to have his wash, while Lucy went about her own business in the castle.

Inside his private bath, Tumnus allowed himself to sink freely into the deep, wide tub of fresh, hot water—which was spiced with bits of crushed herbs that were told to be quite healthy for the skin—and immediately felt like he'd just taken a short trip to heaven. The water was extremely soothing to his aching muscles, and the herbs filled the air with a reassuringly spicy aroma, and made his skin tingle in a rather pleasant way. Tumnus felt so good that he closed his eyes, held his breath, and very slowly slid all the way under the somewhat foamy surface, relishing the soft caress of the water against his face.

At least some good would come out of this arduous training with Oreius, he thought. It would certainly give him an excuse to pamper himself and treat himself to such wonderful luxuries like this afterwards.


	4. Chapter 4

**PICKING UP THE PIECES**

_Presenting chapter 4! This time, we see things from Oreius's point of view. This chapter is considerably darker and sadder than the previous chapters, so brace yourselves. And don't worry; other characters will be included in this story. It's just that we'll be focusing mostly on Oreius and Tumnus, since this is their story. _

_Read, review, and enjoy! _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

**All rights reserved. **

**

* * *

Chapter 4**

"Oreius, my lord, would you care for something to eat?"

"Not now, Alphonse," said Oreius, with a somewhat distracted wave of his hand. "The rest of you may go, if you wish. I'll be there later; right now, I need but a moment to myself."

Alphonse nodded subserviently. "Very well, my lord. Do as you seem fit."

Oreius nodded also, and offered Alphonse a light smile. He and the faun, along with the others, exchanged salutes with one another; and the rest of the group went their own individual ways, leaving Oreius to himself. When Oreius was sure he was completely alone, he wandered leisurely about the courtyard, the grass rustling softly beneath his hooves.

He eventually stopped under one of the tallest trees that grew in the yard, and stood there silently in the deep shade, leaning somewhat sideways against the vast trunk with one vambraced forearm propped up against the rough wood, just a little above his head.

He sighed and laid his forehead against his wrist, closing his eyes in earnest.

Even though he was a soldier, and appeared tough and immovable as a rock at times, he was really quite sensitive at heart.

Years of war experience had taught Oreius to keep his feelings to himself and maintain calmness and dignity around others; yet there came a time every now and again when the centaur's emotions overwhelmed him, and he lacked the power to surpass them. Sometimes, when no one was watching him, when there was no other soul present, Oreius's masculinity and strength would falter, and he'd even shed tears and weep on occasion.

Though he had suffered and recovered from many intense physical wounds throughout his life as a warrior, there was one especially grievous wound that had never truly healed, even after many, many years—not a wound of the flesh, but rather one of the heart, inflicted by the loss of someone very near and dear to him.

_Oh, Anlon,_ Oreius thought sorrowfully, without actually moving his lips, or using his actual voice. Keeping his face pressed to his wrist, his soul continued to mourn, _Oh, Anlon…Anlon…my precious friend…_

Even now, this very moment, the centaur was troubled by haunting memories of his time with his old comrade—memories of what was, and fantasies of what might have been. Even now, Oreius maintained a sharp recollection of that fateful day, long ago, when Anlon left him to fight the White Witch. Such a mission was an exceedingly risky one indeed, with a very, very small chance of success; and failure, even death itself, was practically guaranteed.

Regardless of the odds, Anlon wasn't one to simply stand by and do nothing while the good suffered and the evil prevailed. He would much rather die than sit around and watch Jadis massacre innocent people. If he must die, he would do so fighting for Narnia, and for Aslan.

Oreius would have willingly accompanied Anlon on this excursion, but the old faun had insisted that the centaur remain at their camp, and look after the other soldiers that were also staying behind. After all, Anlon had said, they could not very well risk their entire army in just one battle alone; and should he fall, their men would need a good, strong leader to guide them and protect them, and uphold their valor and spirit.

And, in Anlon's eyes, there was no one more suitable for such a responsibility than Oreius.

Oreius remembered standing alone on the crest of a hill that bitter morning, watching his beloved friend depart from him with his legion of troops, and he remembered that cold, stone-like feeling of dread in the pit of his gut, knowing intuitively that Anlon would most likely not be coming back. In spite of his feelings of fear, sorrow, apprehension, and anxiety, Oreius had sent out a solemn prayer to the heavens that Anlon _would_ come back.

In spite of everything, the large black centaur had clung to the hope that his friend would be successful on his expedition, and return with glory and honor.

Alas, it turned out to be a fool's hope.

Out of all the soldiers who went with Anlon that morning, only a single faun returned to tell Oreius the tragic story of what had happened.

And almost all of the second army—the army that had been appointed to occupy the greater bulk of Jadis's forces while Anlon took care of Jadis himself—never returned.

From what Oreius ultimately learned, Anlon had been gravely wounded in the combat, and Jadis had taken him and slain him on the Stone Table that very night, as what she deemed rightful punishment for leading this insurgence against her. Treason against the Witch was a grave crime, if not the worst crime of all, and the penalty for such traitors was death. After Anlon was dead, his body was hauled away to the Eastern Sea, and there Jadis disposed of his remains by dumping them into the water, and allowing the tide to take over.

And the only parts of Anlon that Oreius had been able to retrieve were his sword and helmet. When these items were brought to Oreius, and the centaur held them within his hands and examined them for himself, all previous assumptions that Anlon's death could have been a mistake or an accident were instantly crushed into dust, and his heart shattered.

Anlon's body was never found, and Oreius was never quite the same afterwards.

Oreius imagined Tumnus had never been the same since that time, either. After all, Anlon was Tumnus's father, the only family Tumnus had left in the whole world. Tumnus had no brothers or sisters, his mother had died ages ago, and he possessed no other remaining relations. Without Anlon, he had literally no one.

Oreius couldn't even begin to comprehend what the years had been like for the poor lad. His own torment at Anlon's death had seemed monstrous; he could scarcely fathom just how much more Tumnus had suffered.

What made the centaur's heart especially sick was knowing that Tumnus had been disowned by his father several years before, due to the lad being in the employment of the White Witch herself; and that Anlon never had the opportunity to reconcile with his son before he died. Even though Tumnus had recently told Oreius of a powerful vision he'd had concerning his father, in which his father forgave him for everything he'd done and sought Tumnus's forgiveness in exchange, Oreius knew it would have been so much simpler and a whole lot more ideal if the two fauns were able to make proper amends in the living years.

This was one of the reasons why Oreius was devoted to Tumnus the way he was.

Not only did Tumnus extraordinarily resemble Anlon, and not only was he all Oreius had left of Anlon, but Oreius also felt a strange obligation to look out for the young faun, to protect Tumnus and keep him from harm. Having no children of his own (let alone a mate of his own), Tumnus was like a son to Oreius. And though the centaur knew he could never truly be Tumnus's father, he felt the young faun could still use some paternal figure in his life; and by caring for Tumnus, the big centaur knew he would also be honoring Anlon.

It was the least he could do for his deceased friend…the very, very least.

_And, perhaps, _the centaur thought to himself, _by giving Tumnus strength, he may also serve as a source of strength for me, when I am weak. Perhaps the both of us can work together to bear each other up, and help one another persevere throughout our long, hard journey down the long, hard paths of life. _

Oreius drew in a long, deep breath; and, feeling somewhat stronger and a little more at ease, he straightened up, turned himself around, and very quietly headed for the castle.


	5. Chapter 5

**PICKING UP THE PIECES**

_Sorry for the long wait, guys. Writer's block had felled me yet again, but once more I stand triumphant! I now reveal to you chapter 5—and, as some of you have been kind enough to suggest, other characters from Narnia are included in this. Feedback on this story is greatly anticipated. Downright flames will not be tolerated. _

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

**All rights reserved. **

**

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Chapter 5**

When Tumnus finally emerged from his bath, well over an hour or so later, he felt much better—and he certainly smelled a great deal better, too. The herbs, as well as the soap he had used, gave his body that special heady scent, and had softened his skin to velvet and his hair and fur to pure silk. The water had also relieved the faun of his aches and most of his stiffness, although there was nothing he could do about his bruises.

At any rate, Tumnus was just glad he could now move without grunting constantly in pain.

As he sauntered down one of the main halls, he came across his old friend, Romulus, who was a faun just like him. Back in the early days of their childhood, Romulus and Tumnus used to stick to each other like glue. They would play together and frolic together, and get into all sorts of mischief together. Their mothers and fathers were quite close friends with each other; so, naturally, it was easy for the two young fauns to become mates as well.

Romulus was always the more rascally and roguish of the twosome, and it was typically because of him that they were in so much trouble so often with their parents.

Even now, as a full-grown faun, Romulus still retained his spirited, half-tame nature.

At that time, he was perched jauntily on the edge of a sill, testing out his flute. The lively tune that emanated from him and his little instrument made Tumnus think of Narnia in the heart of summer, when everything was bright and green and gold, and brimming with life. Tumnus felt compelled to stop and listen, and he did just that, unable to keep a smile from spreading over his face as he regarded his handsome, rugged companion.

When Romulus noticed him, he immediately ceased to play, and he lowered his flute from his lips. "Hey, there, mate," he greeted Tumnus cheerily, lifting one hand in salutation, an enthusiastic grin brightening his features. His accent was similar to the one Tumnus spoke with; only Romulus's accent was slightly thicker, a little richer.

"Hello, Romulus. Are you all right?"

"If I may, mate, I was about to ask you the same question," said Romulus, indicating the less than pleasant purple and yellow marks that peppered Tumnus's manly half.

"I'm fine," Tumnus insisted. "It's nothing, really. I'll be just fine."

"Oreius really let you have it, didn't he?"

Tumnus stared at his friend incredulously. "How'd you know about my training with Oreius?"

Rolling his flute idly between his fingers, Romulus answered shrewdly, "You know me, mate. I'm Romulus. I know everything."

Tumnus now leveled off his ears, and frowned at him. "Romulus!"

The other faun gave a hearty laugh. "Just pulling your tail," he grinned. "I caught a glimpse of you from my balcony earlier this morning, while I was sprucing up for the day." He added, "You and Oreius weren't exactly quiet out there, you know."

Tumnus was tempted to cover his face upon hearing this, but felt compelled to stand tall and hold his head up, and show at least a little dignity before his old friend.

"And from the looks of you," Romulus continued, "I must be right in presuming it did not go very smoothly."

"You have no idea," muttered Tumnus. He prayed that no one else had spotted him that morning, and seen his miserable performance.

"Well, take the rough with the smooth, like my father always said," said Romulus conversationally, as he fingered the seashell-smooth wood of his flute. "Everyone must have a little sense knocked into them every now and again." (Tumnus just rolled his eyes.) "Your father was quite the swordsman himself, you know, mate."

"So I have heard." It occurred to Tumnus that there was so much he didn't know about his father, so much of Anlon's life and deeds and overall heritage that he was unaware of.

Even in the days when Anlon was alive, Tumnus hardly knew him. Even when the two fauns were in the same room, they were never truly in the same place; there always seemed to be a wall there between them. In spite of himself, Tumnus couldn't help feeling a rather sickening stab of bitterness in his heart. If only he'd had more time with his father, had more time to know Anlon and learn more about the faun who helped bring him into the world…but that was just it. Now that Anlon was dead, Tumnus was left with nothing but a load of maybes and what-ifs. What was done was done, and there was nothing anybody could do or say that would change anything. Anlon's span of time on earth was over.

Tumnus knew this was the way it had to be. He also knew that didn't mean he had to like it.

Aslan had told him that all would work out in due time, that he must be patient—but it was hard; far much harder than anyone could ever realize, or even begin to comprehend. Tumnus looked at his future, and couldn't imagine it without Anlon. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know where to turn. The road that lay ahead seemed so long, so complex…almost insurmountable. Tumnus just didn't have the strength to make it on his own.

"Tumnus?" Romulus's voice snapped the faun out of his trance at once.

Giving his head a slight shake, Tumnus muttered bewilderedly, "Sorry…what?"

"You started to talk to me, and then you suddenly blanked out," Romulus informed him.

"Sorry," Tumnus repeated. Putting a hand briefly to his forehead, he went on, "I guess I let my thoughts wander." An old trait that had gotten him into plenty of trouble in his youth.

Romulus leaned a little further back against the marble wall behind him. "So, mate," he said leisurely, as he went on toying with his flute, "what are your plans for today?"

Tumnus now lifted a shrewd eyebrow to him. "I thought you knew everything, Romulus."

Romulus looked taken aback for only a second, and then it was his turn to level his ears. "Oh, very clever, Tumnus. That's me outsmarted right there, isn't it?"

"That's irony for you, my friend."

Right then, a young voice piped up: "Mr. Tumnus?"

Tumnus and Romulus simultaneously turned their heads to discover King Edmund the Just, Lucy's older brother, approaching them. The second youngest of the Four Monarchs of Narnia was clad at that time in his traditional royal livery: a sea-gray tunic made of panné velvet over a deep blue satin undershirt, a long silver velvet cape edged in twisted silver cording, silver-white hosiery, and knee-high black boots dotted with pearl buttons on both sides. His silver crown rested atop his head, as it almost always did.

"King Edmund!" Tumnus and Romulus said together, upon seeing the Son of Adam—as human males were customarily labeled in Narnia. In a flash Romulus was on his hooves, and he and Tumnus both bowed deeply and respectfully before their king.

"How may we be of service to you, my liege?" Romulus asked nobly.

Edmund blushed warmly at this rather embarrassing display of formality. "Please," the lad said to the fauns, with a self-conscious laugh, "must you really do that every single time I come into a room? Stand upright, and look me properly in the face when you address me. And call me Edmund. Just Edmund."

"As you wish, Just Edmund," said Romulus, taking the boy's words literally as he straightened his posture.

Tumnus followed suit. "What brings you here today, my friend?" he asked Edmund very kindly, offering a very gracious smile. "What will you have of me?"

"I was wondering if I might have a word with you, Mr. Tumnus."

"Two words, if you'd like," said Tumnus, in an attempt at light humor.

"I take this as a sign for me to leave the premises," Romulus said, turning to go his own way.

"Actually," said Edmund, "I could use you as well, Mr. Romulus."

So, Romulus stayed put, and Tumnus asked Edmund, "So, what is it you wish to speak to me about, exactly?"

Edmund hesitated. "Well…" he began very slowly.

"Yes?" Tumnus nodded for him to continue. "I am listening."

Edmund closed his eyes briefly, and Tumnus saw his throat give a noticeable twitch as he swallowed hard. "Well," Edmund said again, when he opened his eyes and looked up, "as you know, Mr. Tumnus, your home—that is to say, your home in the Western Woods—was ransacked by the Secret Police when…when the White Witch arrested you." He nearly choked on the last bit.

Of course, Tumnus knew all too well. Before Edmund and Lucy (and their two elder siblings, Peter and Susan) became the famed Kings and Queens of Cair Paravel, before Aslan restored peace to Narnia, Tumnus had received orders from the White Witch that if he were to ever stumble across a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve, he was to turn them over to her. When he'd refused to surrender Lucy, the Secret Police—a group of vicious, merciless wolves that did the Witch's bidding—were sent to the cave that served as Tumnus's abode to arrest the traitorous faun. Tumnus would never forget that terrible night. Even today, he was plagued by nightmares of that occasion, in addition to dreams of his father. Even now, he could still hear the chilling snarls and snaps of the brutes, see the malice in their burning yellow eyes.

It all happened so suddenly, without forewarning. The Secret Police had practically torn Tumnus's front door from its hinges when they assaulted him, and they wrecked the place from top to bottom, leaving Tumnus's home in utter shambles when they carried him off to the Witch's ice palace for his sentence. Tumnus had not been to his old home since then.

"Yes, I know," was all the faun could bring himself to say to Edmund.

"Well, anyway," said Edmund, after making sure he could keep his voice moderately steady, "I decided to organize an official restoration of the cave, a week from today. You know, go out with a big group of people, and we all work together to improve the place—clean up the messes, salvage things, put everything back together. I hope that's all right, Mr. Tumnus."

Now it was Tumnus's turn to hesitate. He looked away for a moment from both Edmund and Romulus, nibbling meditatively on his lower lip. "Well," he said, at length, "I _have_ been meaning to go back and tidy things up for some time." Which was only partially true. "And I suppose this would be a good opportunity to do so."

"I already rounded up some volunteers to help us," said Edmund, "but we could still use a few more pairs of hands." He turned to Romulus. "That's where you come in, Mr. Romulus."

"Certainly," said Romulus, before the question was even asked. "I would be happy to help."

"Well, great!" Edmund said, managing a smile. "And could you also—"

"Persuade a few others to lend assistance, as well?" Romulus filled in the rest of the sentence for him. Edmund nodded, and Romulus smiled. "I believe that can be arranged," he said grandly.

Tumnus had to smile a little himself. Romulus was known for possessing a special charm that enticed other people. Hardly anyone could say no to him—and Romulus was one of those creatures who refused to take no for an answer.

"Also," Edmund went on, shifting his earnest gaze to Tumnus one more time, "I was hoping it would be all right if I accompanied you on this, and took part in the cleanup."

Tumnus knew what Edmund was getting at.

The boy still felt guilt-ridden about betraying him to the Witch—it was because of Edmund that Tumnus's involvement with Lucy had been discovered in the first place—and therefore the lad went out of his way to show Tumnus special attention, never hesitating to do a favor for him, all as means of trying to make up for what he'd done.

Tumnus knew it would be best to simply go along with the boy, and accept the boy's acts of penance with as much grace and altruism as possible. He wanted Edmund to understand that he had truly forgiven him…even if the boy couldn't forgive himself.

"That would be very kind of you, Edmund," the faun said gently. "And I thank you for your thoughtfulness on my behalf."

He looked away again, and sighed softly. As much as he longed to be in his old cave again, as much as he anticipated having his old home restored—it was where he'd grown up, after all—he also harbored an oddly ill sensation in his lower gut at the same time. Regardless of his feelings of homesickness, Tumnus was doubtful of whether he could relive the harrowing memories that haunted the place. That cave was where he'd been when he very, very nearly yielded Lucy to the Witch; when the Secret Police attacked him and arrested him; what's more, it was the very last place in which he saw his father alive. It was at that very point that Anlon had formally washed his hands of Tumnus, and left Tumnus forever.

Anlon's memory was already vivid and potent enough here, at Cair Paravel.

How much more so would it be at that other place?

Seeing the distant look on the faun's face, Edmund queried, "Mr. Tumnus, are you all right?"

"Is everything all right, mate?" Romulus added mildly, reaching out his free hand to touch the other faun's unadorned shoulder. His concern was genuine.

"Yes," said Tumnus in an unusually low voice, not bothering to meet either of their eyes while he gave his answer. "Everything is fine. Just…fine."


	6. Chapter 6

**PICKING UP THE PIECES**

_It's about time this darn thing got updated! Once more, writer's block threatened to strangle me, but somehow I made it through in one piece. I wish you all happy reading, and as always, I would dearly appreciate the feedback! Come on, people, it will only take a few minutes of your time to write something, and it will serve as the fuel that keeps me and these stories going!_

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

**All rights reserved. **

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Chapter 6**

In the early afternoon that same day, Tumnus secretly stole away to his private chambers, desiring—and needing—time to himself, as well as peace and quiet. Inside his room, everything was so familiar, and yet so foreign at the same time. The whole place was neat and shipshape, everything in its proper place, much like the way Tumnus's old cave have been organized before the Secret Police tore it apart. For a time, Tumnus stood still and surveyed his surroundings intently, wondering at how similar and how diverse the castle was compared to his cave. Here at Cair Paravel, everything was big and grand and extravagant; at his cave, it used to be simple and rudimentary, yet warm and comfortable at the same time.

Tumnus had never had much to call his own. While his parents weren't exactly poor (so many others fared far worse than they did), they certainly weren't rich, either. Sure, their family always had bread on the table, and they always maintained a reasonable environment. But aside from the basic necessities, there was hardly any money for anything else. After Tumnus's mother died, his father was lucky to conserve more than two pieces of silver at a time. That was one of the reasons why Tumnus initially agreed to side with the White Witch, when she usurped Narnia in the beginning. Aside from the warranty of his physical life, Tumnus also viewed working for Jadis as a reliable way of earning money: money to pay for everything he most needed, with more than enough to spare.

But it was all blood money, cold, foul, ruthless money that came at the expense of innocent people.

And, as Anlon once put it so eloquently, Tumnus would rather be flat broke than subsist on such money.

There was so much Tumnus had done in his life that he wished he could change. But of course, the faun knew that was impossible.

With a heavy sigh, Tumnus bowed his head and closed his eyes, blocking out everything around him. What was the matter with him? The whole affair with the White Witch was now a thing of the past. Aslan had returned and restored peace to Narnia, and all were as they ought to be. Tumnus knew he should be happy…but something still dwelled within his heart, something dark and unpleasant, and he didn't know how to face it. He was here now, and he knew his present was good, yet somehow he couldn't bring himself to relinquish the past, and his future was shadowed with such uncertainty and ambiguity. He felt confused, angry, troubled, and strangely lonely, all at the same time. He was feeling so many different things at once; he was so mixed up and torn so many ways inside; he could hardly think straight.

He wished Aslan were there, to give him comfort and guidance. Better yet, he wished Anlon himself were there. Oh, how Tumnus needed his father—in some ways, he needed Anlon more now than he had when he was a child. But Anlon was gone, just when Tumnus needed him most, and he was never coming back. No matter how many times this grim truth ran through Tumnus's mind, it still pierced the faun's heart like a freshly sharpened sword, every time.

Unexpectedly, a few tears began rolling down Tumnus's cheeks, and he put a hand over his eyes, which were still closed, and struggled to keep his sobs inside. How was it, that after all this time, after all that had happened to him, after all he had seen and heard, the crippling thorn yet remained?

When would this sorrow and suffering finally end, fully and completely? Would he ever feel peace again?

After wiping his eyes on his wrist and drawing in a deep breath, Tumnus lifted his gaze heavenward, and pleaded aloud, "What am I to do? How can I go on like this? Why can't I just be a normal, ordinary faun, with a normal, ordinary life, without having to deal with these sorts of things?"

"Who are you talking to, Tumnus?"

Tumnus gave out a sharp cry and practically jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice, and he spun around to discover Oreius standing right there in the room, next to the door (which Tumnus had conveniently left open), watching him. The very instant Tumnus recognized the centaur, he felt his shock switch to anger.

"Oreius—don't ever do that to me again!" he said crossly.

Oreius, who was still arrayed in his full body armor from their training session that morning, only with his helmet tucked neatly under one arm, answered simply, "I beg your pardon, Tumnus."

"What are you doing here?" Tumnus demanded, none too tactfully. "Are you spying on me?"

Oreius narrowed his eyes at the impudent faun. "No," the black centaur answered, very coolly. "I was merely passing by, and I heard you talking through the open door and decided to see what you were up to. _Do _excuse me for having a rather sharp ear. And you had best watch that temper of yours, boy."

Tumnus brushed his hand over his eyes, mortified as well as irritated that Oreius had caught him in this state. "I thought I was alone."

"Well, soon you will be," Oreius shot back, and with that, he turned to leave.

Immediately Tumnus repented of his contempt, and Oreius had only taken three steps before the faun called after him, "Wait!" And when Oreius stopped and turned back to him once more, Tumnus said contritely, "I'm sorry, Oreius."

When Oreius heard this, his expression began to soften.

"I didn't mean to lash out at you," Tumnus continued meekly. "I was only voicing my thoughts out loud. I wasn't expecting anyone to actually be listening to me. I'm sorry."

The apology sounded sincere, and Oreius felt his annoyance with the young faun drain from him on the spot.

He even felt guilty and a bit foolish for ever being cross with Tumnus to start with, and he readily apologized himself. "Forgive me, Tumnus," he said quietly, bowing his head humbly. "I should not have snapped like that myself…and I should not have barged in on you like that in the first place."

"It's okay," said Tumnus. "Just…give me a little more friendly warning next time, will you? A knock on the door, or a tap of your hoof—or something. Don't scare me like that."

"I shall do my best to remember that," Oreius promised him.

Tumnus gazed into the centaur's brown eyes and knew he was forgiven, and Oreius could also make out forgiveness in the young faun's teal-blue eyes.

"Do I have your permission to enter?" Oreius requested.

Tumnus nodded mildly. "Yes, Oreius, come in."

So Oreius stepped into the room, his armor rattling slightly as he walked, the thick rug on the floor muffling the sound of his hoofbeats. Being a centaur, he was at least half a body taller than Tumnus, and towered easily over the faun. Then again, he was among the biggest centaurs in all of Narnia, and almost everybody looked up to him—literally.

"I hope all is well with you," he said to Tumnus, when he reached him.

"All is well, Oreius…at least, as well as can be expected."

But Oreius clearly saw the despondency in Tumnus's face, and knew the faun was troubled about some matter. And he had a shrewd suspicion of what that very matter was. "Come, now, Tumnus," he beckoned, "what are you thinking about? What is it that's eating away at your soul?"

Looking away from his companion, Tumnus murmured softly, "I don't know."

"Well, _I _know. You're missing your father, aren't you?" When Tumnus grimaced, as one in pain, Oreius knew he had hit his target dead center.

Yet when Tumnus spoke, his voice emerged calm and quiet. "Yes," was all the faun could say.

"Still having trouble getting over his loss?" Oreius assumed.

Tumnus nodded bleakly. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Oreius," he said, raising a hand to his face and gingerly kneading his eyelids with the tips of his fingers. "It's been so long since my father died, and yet I can't bring myself to let him go. I try to get on with my life, and I try to be happy, but it's hard. I have everything I could ever want—or, almost everything—and I know I should be grateful for it. But I feel as if something's missing. It's like there's some sort of void there, and it only seems to grow more and more with every day."

"It's never easy to get over losing someone close to your heart," said Oreius in a low voice, his expression enigmatic. "Even after the departed is long gone, the grief and the sense of emptiness still lingers. Sorrow seems to almost take on a life of its very own. It is like a beast that is not easily overcome." When Tumnus looked up at him in bewilderment, Oreius just said, "I know, because I too have struggled with it, and am doing so…even now."

Tumnus bowed his head, but didn't say another word; and Oreius also remained quiet for a time.

At length, Tumnus questioned, "Oreius, exactly how long did you know my father? Back when he was still living and breathing, that is? How long were you in his company?"

"About twenty to twenty-five years," Oreius estimated, after doing a brief calculation on his fingers, "give or take five years on either side."

"Strange. Father never made mention of you. Not to me directly, anyway."

"He did mention _you_ on a few occasions, Tumnus."

"What did he say?"

"Not much," Oreius admitted, and Tumnus's ears quirked downward in disappointment. "Anlon was never one to engage in long-lasting chatter," Oreius explained. "Mostly, he spoke only what he felt he absolutely needed to speak. He was more of a faun of action, and determination. Once Anlon had his mind fixed on something, nothing could dissuade him from his purpose. And by that, I mean _nothing._" He chuckled slightly. "I'll tell you, Tumnus, when it comes to stubbornness, Anlon was worse than three griffins, a minotaur, and an ogre, all put together."

Despite himself, Tumnus had to crack at least a fraction of a smile at that last bit. And he knew it to be true, too. Anlon was, without a shred of doubt, the most obdurate, stiff-necked faun to have ever walked the face of the earth. He had always possessed an iron will that no one dared defy, unless they had a death wish. As far as Tumnus was concerned, his mother seemed the one and only individual in the world who could have really gotten through to Anlon—though Tumnus never knew how she did it.

Oreius's face and tone now took on a soft, wistful quality. "'Do what must be done,' that's what Anlon would always say to me," the centaur said. "He was loyal, courageous, and true…right to the very end. Had we shared the same blood, I could never have loved him more. I am indebted to him."

"It's not fair!" Tumnus burst out. "Why did my father have to die? Why did he have to go, and leave me here alone? Why did he have to throw his life away so recklessly, when he went up against the Witch? He should have known better!" Without even realizing it, the faun kicked out at a footstool, and sent it tumbling halfway across the room.

Oreius only stood where he was and did nothing while Tumnus gave vent to his emotions, though the centaur gave a bit of a start when Tumnus impulsively kicked the stool.

When Tumnus realized what he had done, he felt his face and the base of his neck burn scarlet-hot.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, ducking his head in abject shame. "I don't know what made me go and do that. Please forgive me, Oreius."

"There is no need to apologize, Tumnus," said Oreius gently. "You are at perfect liberty to feel the way you do." He reached down with his free hand and grasped the faun's shoulder, and offered a light squeeze. "As I have said before, it is never easy to let someone you love go." He moved his hand to Tumnus's cheek, and Tumnus slowly looked up at him with moist, shining eyes. "Give yourself time to mourn, Tumnus. Give yourself permission to sorrow. Do not be ashamed to weep, and do not be afraid to let your true feelings show. There is no time limit to grief, and there is no dishonor in missing Anlon and wishing for him. If anything, it is a sign that you truly love him, that he truly meant something to you."

Tumnus understood perfectly. Even so, he said, "Oreius? If you don't mind, I want to be alone now."

Oreius nodded amiably, and withdrew his hand. "Very well," he answered quietly. "I understand."

However, Tumnus did have one more question. "Oreius?" he said, just as the centaur was leaving.

"Yes, Tumnus?"

"Does everything happen for a particular reason?"

Oreius didn't respond right away, but stroked his small black beard pensively. Presently, he said, "As far as I know, Tumnus, certain things—just happen."


End file.
